Beating yourself up

I get that things are weird. I understand that none of this is normal, or really healthy at all, but today I really feel like a fuckup and I am beating myself up.

I had writing to do. I did a little bit of it. I need to pick up the pace, but lately, I just stare up at a mountain of work, whether it’s making my goal on paid work, doing the other things I need to do for my freelance work, or just taking care of daily chores. I make lists. Sometimes I check things off. Sometimes I just make more lists.

I feel that Resistance as sure as if it were a brick wall. It’s hard to drag my ass out of bed. It’s daunting to sit down and put words down on a book that A) will probably suck B) nobody will read C) will just prove to be more ambition that never went anywhere because I’ve been in the habit of making things work for other people so long, that I don’t know if I ever knew how to make it work for myself.

Lately I have been having a hard time with solitude.

I try to reach out to people, but they just don’t reach back. Fuck, I’m back where I was in 2015 when I was starting my life over from scratch, only this time, I don’t have the stability of the day job to keep me focused. It’s difficult to say the least. And sad to say, but sometimes when I do talk to someone during the day, I just don’t feel that connection, like they are interested in sharing time with me at all.

It’s all a distraction anyway. A good way to waste time, because I’m scared shitless of doing the work. Failing, or worse yet, success. I’m just so tired. Empty. I haven’t got a lot left in my tanks anymore, and if I couldn’t keep a relationship together that seemed to be going well, I don’t have a lot of confidence in a career that is just a dream right now. Just another pipe dream. Just going around telling people I am something, when I’m sure I’m an imposter.

I miss having a person. Someone who got it, and didn’t just leave my messages on Read. All my life I’ve felt like I’ve been on the outside looking in. At this point, I have stopped caring. One day, I will get my goal which is just to walk away and start my life over again, but this time it will be on my terms. There are days I get so weary of the world that I just don’t care anymore.

I know it’s the depression talking. I know it’s a constant shadow on my shoulder I have to ignore every day. Some days I’m “amazing” and other days, I’m just a collection of old junk, moving it from one side of the garage to the next, instead of actually getting rid of it.

Today, I didn’t do what I wanted to get done. And I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.